Internal Struggles
by Flashback 1701
Summary: Oneshots centering around GerIta/HREChibi.
1. Making it Better

_The stench of decay clogs the air, a thick layer of dust coating the inside of my nose and mouth. My breath bleeds form my parched throat, creeping past my mud-stained teeth. Silent bodies lay sprawled about the rubble, searching the war-torn sky with their sightless eyes…_

- - - - -

"Germany?" A faint voice breaks my chaotic slumber, making me jolt upright. Heart racing, I take a quick inventory of my surroundings: TV, stereo system, Gilbert's ice cream-logged computer, I let out a relieved sigh. It's the 21st century, the 2000s to be exact. Italy is watching me from his perch on the coffee table, concern etched into his childlike face. Swinging my legs off the couch, I sit up, irritated to find that I'd forgotten to remove my shoes.

"What is it, Italy?" I ask, putting a hand to my forehead to quell a nonexistent headache. I am surprised to find my cheeks wet, and quickly wipe away the embarrassing evidence.

"Germany," the young-looking nation plops down next to me, seeming restless and distant. He hasn't touched me since that day, the day that robbed me of my best (and only) friend. Whenever I am reminded of my past stupidity, I find myself wanting to bash my head against a brick wall.

"Yes?"

"You were crying." He whispers almost conspiratorially, as if sharing a great secret.

Hesitantly I rest a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I'm fine," I assure him (and myself), "it was only a dream."

After a moment, he shrugs away my touch, leaving my arm to swing emptily down into my lap. It's been awkward between us for almost seventy years now. Perhaps it's not an impressive span of time for us nations – France and England have been at each others' throats for centuries – but lately my existence has been just as lonely as ever. Italy, no, Feliciano never hugs me anymore, or begs for kisses, or chatters 'til my ears buzz, or mysteriously turns up in my bed. At first I thought that I was relieved, but as the years pass, I have grown to miss his constant affection.

Even now I ache for the old Italy who would've flung himself into my arms without a second thought. This new Italy is shy and acts uneasy when I'm around. I perfectly remember the day that I lost everything, yet I want so badly to forget.

- - - - -

_Tears spill down his cheeks as his brother drags him away. Italy, my Italy, looks so lost, so utterly barren without his goofy smile. Suddenly I can see the weight of centuries on his heaving shoulders, his true age revealing itself in his tired amber eyes. His waterlogged gaze is full of sorrow and terrible knowledge, yet it remains far more innocent than mine._

_ His sobs are silent, devoid of the usual theatrics. Even as I watch the brothers leave, I want to race after them, to gather Feliciano into my arms and comfort him like I'd (reluctantly) done so many times before. I want to be his hero again, the might Germany saving useless little Italy once more, but my limbs refuse to work. Instead, I turn my back to him. Perhaps he thinks I'm abandoning him, but in truth, I don't want him to see my tears._

_ My heart plummets, slowing ever so slightly before clattering emptily onto the floor. I can hear Mussolini and _mein Fuhrer_ in the other room, their conversation stilted and tense. At that moment it occurs to me that we as nations are nothing more than sick puppets bound to do the bidding of our masters, no matter how deranged._

- - - - -

"Germany?" Now he sounds worried, eyes open and searching my own, "Germany, are you all right?"

"Ye… no." I surprise myself by forming a comprehensible response.

"Ve?"

"I… I miss you." I fight with myself, shoving my complex thoughts into a simple, disjointed sentence.

"But I'm right here…" He tilts his head, looking at me like a confused puppy. Taking a deep breath, I struggle for words.

"I miss being with you, Feliciano… I mean, really _being _with you." He stiffens at his name, and I can see the gears turning in his head.

"Y-you mean-?"

"The hugs, the annoying small talk, those stupid dilemmas you always get yourself into…" I pause to swallow a lump that is making it increasingly hard to speak, "Feliciano, I miss you more than anything I've ever missed before." The words sound dim-witted, leaving my tongue with a sour aftertaste.

The silence is…

There are so many ways of describing such a long, awkward pause, but none of them seem to fit these circumstances. The moment if filled with anticipation: a glimmer of hope on my part, and a shadow of doubt on his. There's the humiliation of having finally shared my true feelings, and the small voice in my head telling me to just grab Feliciano and never let go.

"G-Germany," There they are, those fat, salty tears that cling so delicately to his thick, dark lashes. "Ludwig, I miss you, too."

I feel my chest swell as I open my arms, initiating an embrace for the first time in our history together. Sobbing, he buries his face in shirt, seizing my midsection in a kind of desperation. I press a hand to the back of his head as I've seen people do in movies. His familiar warmth makes me feel giddy, as if I could leap off the ground and keep rising.

- - - - -

I wish I could say that I stood cool and controlled like the proud German soldier that I am, but then I'd be lying. On the other hand, I didn't quite bawl like a baby as depicted in so many novels and TV programs.

The tears leaked past my defenses before they could be stopped, only to be kissed away by Feliciano. He'd then placed his warm, salty lips against mine, sealing our reunion with that sugary sweet contact. At that moment I finally understood: happiness is being in the arms of someone you love.


	2. Making it Better II

This is basically the previous oneshot from Italy's POV. Hope it's acceptable, I wrote this while studying for the AP US history exam.

* * *

Tears are creeping from Germany's closed eyes, streaming down his face more freely than I have ever seen before. Though he is sleeping, his face is still pulled into a scowl. I can see the worry carving wrinkles into his young forehead. His lips are moving, murmuring strange words that I can't quite understand, yet I receive the message when he begins to tremble.

"Germany? Are you okay?" His eyelids flutter, but don't open. "Germany?"

Suddenly he jerks awake, eyes wide with fear and confusion. His gaze slides over me, as if I'm invisible, searching for some kind of reassurance.

After a few tense seconds, he sighs and turns his attention to me.

"What is it, Italy?" He grunts, pulling himself into a sitting position, looking angrily at his feet. He looks as if he's got a headache, and puts a hand to his brow as he always does. I see him blink with surprise and try to wipe away the tears without me noticing. I bounce onto the couch next to him, looking up at him.

"Germany,"

"Yes?"

"You were crying." I tell him, using a low voice so that I don't embarrass him.

"I'm fine, it was just a dream." He looks confused still, but places a hand on my shoulder, as if to steady me. This sudden contact shocks me – we haven't touched for… how long had it been? Fifty, sixty, seventy years? I shudder, his hand sliding down my back and into his lap where it sits looking sad and unwanted. Quiet falls thickly across the room like snow, forming drifts between him and me. The chilly air seems to leech the oxygen from my lungs, robbing me of the ability to fill the silence.

His sky blue eyes are miles away; twitching back and forth across some distant scene. His face contorts in pain, brow furrowed, lips thin and white. I scrambled off of the couch and kneel in front of him, looking up into his glassy stare.

"Germany?" I can see his conscious mind returning, "Germany, are you all right?"

"Ye… no." He sounds almost drunk for a moment, his lips and tongue clumsily forming a response.

"Ve?"

"I… I miss you." Face coloring, he diverts his eyes, choosing instead to examine the carpet with great intensity.

"But I'm right here…" I try to make him look at me, but he simply turns his head. I can hear him drawing breath through his nose.

"I miss being with you, Feliciano… I mean, really _being_ with you." My eyes widen with shock at his words. My name… he hadn't called me that since, well, he hadn't ever used my civilian name. He'd said he missed me…

"Y-you mean-?"

"The hugs, the annoying small talk, those stupid dilemmas you always get yourself into… Feliciano, I miss you more than anything I've ever missed before."

I stare at him for a long time, trying to piece together what had just happened. His hands are shaking, his face is red, and the intensity in his eyes almost frightens me. I can feel the warm ooze of tears against my cheeks, blurring my former ally and friend.

"G-Germany," I pause. No, that's not his name. "Ludwig, I miss you, too."

I fall into his opened arms, breathing in his familiar scent. It's musky and fresh, tinged slightly with sweat and the fading smell of blood. I remember how many times I'd done this before, searching for consolation in his grasp, but this time I can feel it radiating off of him.

I circle myself around his waist – wanting to melt into him, to become one with him. For the first time he pulls me closer to him, I can feel his chin resting on my head, as he pats me awkwardly but gently on the back.

When I finally look up, I see that he's crying, too. Flinging my arms around his neck, I stand on tippy-toes to kiss away his tears. Then, after a moment of hesitation, I peck him on the lips. His face blossoms with color, the fiery red quickly spreading to his ears.

In that moment, my heart skips a beat. My beloved captain is smiling at me. His eyes hold a beautiful warmth in them that I've never seen before. I love it. Germany – no, Ludwig – is perfect, so perfect that it almost hurts me to look at him. I bury my face in his strong chest again, bawling. My heart is bursting at the seams, overflowing with all the love and joy I want to share with him.


	3. Fallen

This is pretty angsty, and it features implied AustriaxHungary.

I wrote this while listening to Makka Na Ito by Plastic Tree.

* * *

A sudden clap of thunder rattled the windows of the mansion, the glass chattering like hundreds of teeth. At the tremendous noise, the previously dozing boy leapt up, squealing in fear. Rain was flooding down in torrents, gale-force winds tearing at the defenseless walls. The storm threatened to destroy the very building, as if nature itself had been driven mad with bloodlust.

"Italy?" Hungary was crying his name, her kind voice tinged with fear and panic, "Italy, dear, where are you?"

"I-I'm scared…" It came out a whisper, barely audible above the storm's rage, "I'm scared."

"Italy?"

The child hugged his knees to his chest, tears rolling down his cheeks. Not only had he just woken from a nightmare, but the mansion seemed to be under a siege and the faint stench of smoke was creeping into the room. In the distance Hungary continued to call his name, an ominous crackling nipping at the heels of her words.

"Have you found him yet?" Austria's voice broke the chaos. Even as composed as the dark-haired teen generally appeared, he couldn't hide his alarm.

"No," His young lover sobbed, "I can't find him, Roderich."

"Italy!" This call wasn't a question, but a sharp command, "Italy, come out right now!"

"I'm scared… I'm scared…" The mantra continued as the boy's eyes grew wider and wider, adrenaline pumping through his veins, _"I'm scared!"_

"I hear him!" Running footsteps sounded down a long corridor, "Italy, come out!"

Shaking legs refused to support him, his hands trembled uncontrollably. What was going on? Why was it so loud? Why did his chest hurt so badly?

_"Italy!"_

"I can't!" Eyes swollen with tears, the young boy screamed, his lungs emptying themselves of the acrid air, "I can't, I'm scared!"

Austria flung open the door of the study, his hair disheveled and clothes covered in soot. Behind him Hungary was clutching her beloved frying pan to her chest, tears standing in her eyes. Without breaking stride, the cold-mannered youth retrieved the petrified boy, tucked him under his arm, and made for the exit.

"Elizaveta, stay behind me!" He ordered, stepping into the smoke filled hall, "We've got to get to the ground level!"

"B-but the stairs are-"

"Elizaveta," Austria's eyes were hard and determined. A strange sort of fierceness was etched across his face, filling the amethyst gaze with resolve. "Do as I say."

The three moved quickly, bent low and almost running. Already the supports were creaking, giving way to the hungry crimson flames. Italy was crying silently, shuddering against the lanky body of the older boy. Behind him, Hungary pressed close, her face red from the heat being radiated from all sides. They were going to die if they didn't find an escape route soon. Surely, the smallest of the trio could feel Death's dry, rattling breath on the back of his neck. Had it always been this hard to breathe?

"Roderich, the window!" Austria had glimpsed the pane of glass that was separating the three of them from survival and narrowed his eyes. Thrusting Italy into the girl's arms, he charged forward, arms coming up to protect his face at the last moment. Everything seemed to slow; the boy's heart was in his mouth as he approached the window. _Please work. _

The glass shattered, piercing the teenager's unprotected flesh. The momentum of his jump carried him a few meters from the burning building before he began his descent, falling gently to the mud-soaked ground just below. Hungary followed a moment later, her skirt tearing on the ruined window as she escaped with Italy in her grasp.

Upon impact, the boy flew from her arms and rolled across the wet ground, his tears mingling with the rain-choked earth. Something was wrong, very very wrong.

After gaining some distance, the three nations sat in a stunned silence as they watched the fabulous mansion crumble to ash. It was nightmarish: a brilliant fire contrasting sharply with the deep purple-grey of the tempest.

"Roderich, honey," The girl's moist eyes met her lover's, "what does this mean?"

"It means he's gone." Was the stony response, "He has fallen."

"Who's gone?" Italy sniffled, "Who's fallen?"

"No one, dear." Her face was pale beneath the black traces of ash.

"Italy, are you all right?" Austria gave him a quick once over before meeting his eyes.

"Y-yes…"

"And you, Elizaveta?"

"I'm fine," she nodded, "Roderich, you're the one who's bleeding."

"I'll recover." He replied curtly, pretending not to be concerned. Secretly he wanted to cry out in pain.

"What will Holy Roman say when he gets home?" Italy's small face held a look of utter despair. "He'll think I was doing a bad job if he sees it like this…"

The other two exchanged a look.

"He won't mind, sweetie." Hungary assured him, kissing him gently on the forehead, "We'll tell him it was an accident."

"Elizaveta-"

"Besides," she shot a venomous look at her partner that clearly asked _Do you want him to be completely traumatized, you dumbass?_ "He loves you, remember?"

"Oh yeah," he smiled before frowning again, "but how am I supposed to bake him sweets without a kitchen?"

Hungary giggled tiredly, pushing the aching in her chest to the back of her mind. Smiling, she affectionately ruffled the boy's hair. "We'll figure something out."

* * *

Italy blinked. France was sitting in front of him looking worried and almost guilty. The rain was gone, and so was the fire, the mansion, everything… everything but the twinge of loss and the bitter of sting tears. He realized that his hand was fisted over his heart, his fingernails biting his palm even through the fabric of his shirt.

"I-I'm sorry, Italy." The blonde murmured, suddenly looking very old and weary, "I didn't mean to… to…"

"No, it's all right."

"You don't have to forgive- what?"

"It's all right, France." Italy smiled, forcing his lips to curve upwards. "I don't even know what you're talking about."

"Italy-"

"I'm hungry, do you want some pasta?"

"Italy, please-"

"Coming right up!"

Upon entering the kitchen, the boy's legs seemed to be cut out from under him. Lying on the cold tiles, he lost all restraint. His shoulders shuddered in time with his throbbing heart, chest contracting sharply as he drew each agonizing breath. He could sense France hesitating outside the kitchen door; the tears that stood on the man's attractive face.

A bitter taste coated the inside of the boy's mouth as he gagged on his own sobs. How could _he _die? Hadn't _he_ promised to return?

_Why? Why does everyone leave me?_

On the other side of the door, France trembled. He loved Italy, yet he'd purposefully performed the act that would most successfully destroy him.

"_Je suis si desolé, Italie, je suis si desolé." _He repeated the words until they felt foreign and strange, losing their meaning all together.

Italy was murmuring something. His voice was like a broken bird, fluttering dully against gravity. Leaning against the worn wooden door, France heard him say, "I never needed this kitchen. I only wanted one… to keep my promise to you."

* * *

_Je suis si desolé, Italie, je suis si desolé - _I'm so sorry, Italy, I'm so sorry (thank you ForTheNineteenthTime)_  
_


	4. Finding You

**Warning: **AU Character Death.  


* * *

I hope that this train will carry me far away from all of my sorrows here, that somehow it will displace my broken heart. The past, it turns out, is a stubborn thing and refuses to relinquish its hold on me. As I stare at the empty seat across from me, I can see you; your short legs dangling above the floor. It's been almost thirteen years since I saw you last. Your grin is just as shy as ever, and even now, you can't seem to bring yourself to look me in the eye.

_I remember the day we met, you and I. The moving van was parked in front of the house across the street, and something delicious-smelling was cooking in your kitchen. When I followed the scent into the building, I found you sitting at the newly delivered kitchen table. In your hands was a book titled __Fun with Dick and Jane__, and you were focused quite intently on it as I meandered in._

_ "Hi." I waved at you. "I'm Feliciano, what's your name?"_

_ You noticed me then for the first time and almost cried out._

_ "What are you doing in my house?" You asked, looking angry and confused, "My dad's a soldier, and he taught me how to fight off an intruder!"_

_ "Don't hit me!" I shivered a little, afraid to be hurt. "I just smelled something yummy!" _

_ You relented a little and set down your book. Hopping out of the too-large chair, you walked right up to me. You were taller than me by two or three inches and stood with your chest thrown out and shoulders back._

_ "That's probably the cake we made," You admitted, and I could see that your ears were turning pink. "Not that I like to cook… that's for girls."_

_ "I like to cook," I admitted, wondering what you'd think._

_ "But that's okay." _

_Then you told me your name. It was Ludwig._

_When the cake was done, your soldier father came in and served it to us. He was tall and handsome, and you looked like a miniature of him. His eyes, however, lacked the tentative warmth yours held. Even so, I secretly hoped that you would grow up to be as beautiful as he was._

_ I remember how wonderful that cake tasted. It was chocolate and got all over my clothes. When I was finished, you offered me a napkin and wiped off my face. I think that was when I fell in love with you._

_ Soon we were good friends. You were so solemn as a child, but when you looked at me, it was as if the sun was emerging from behind a cloud. I can recall the day we wandered into the park together and decided that it was warm enough to swim in the creek. You'd stripped down and waded in cautiously, but when I followed you (sans clothing), you turned frightfully red and ran away. I was confused then, but now I think it may have been because you had fallen in love with me, too._

_ And how could I forget the day when you said that you wanted to marry me when we grew up? I was so happy I wanted to burst. We were seven and thought we understood love. You had given me a bouquet of every flower you could find: dandelions, violets, daisies, and all those delicate blossoms that spring up unwanted in people's yards. You'd even stolen a rose from your neighbor's rosebush for me. Your face was just about the same color. I remember that you'd asked me what a couple was supposed to do when they were "engaged". When I said that they were supposed to kiss, I thought you would faint. We did, and your lips tasted like chocolate cake._

_ Fall came around, and we were getting ready to start school. You promised me that you would protect me from any bully who tried to hurt me, but when I ran across the street to your house on the first day, you weren't there. There was an ambulance, a police car, and our neighbor – the one with the rosebush – who was wringing his hands and looking upset. I didn't know then, but you were hidden away under that white sheet that was lying in the middle of the road._

Tears slide down my face, and I lose sight of you for a moment. Taking a shaky breath, I allow my memory to drag me away.

_I had never seen your big brother cry before, and it was kind of unnerving. He'd always acted tough and liked to beat you up, but suddenly he wasn't a scary teenager at all – he was a blubbering child. Your father was the worst. He stood there with his cold, green eyes and watched that white sheet as if you would suddenly just sit up and pull it away. I watched as the moisture bubbled past his lids and streamed down his face, yet he didn't move a muscle. _

_At the time, I didn't understand what was going on. All I knew was that I would be going to school alone._

"He said he was sorry, that you ran behind him before he could stop." I swallow a sob, wiping away the evidence of my grief. "You were coming to meet me, weren't you?"

Finally you meet my eyes and smile. I watch as you nod and wave your farewell, disappearing from my sight – my life – yet again. For a moment, all is silent. I turn to the window just as the train passes a sprawling field filled with dandelions, violets, daisies, and every other wildflower I can think off.

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" A young man is asking me, his expression bashful and shy. His eyes are yours, as bright as the summer sky, and his flaxen hair is yours, shining with sun and styled neatly.

Wordlessly, I nod, forgetting about the pain spiking through my chest.

"Thank you." He sits, setting his briefcase at his feet. Nervously checking his watch, he glances out the window, and I can see the golden light of the dandelions reflected in his gaze.

"Hi," I murmur, "I'm Feliciano." _What's your name?_

He hesitates slightly, as if considering the consequences of communicating with a stranger.

"I'm Ludwig."

"I-it's nice to meet…" Suddenly I'm stuttering, unable to hold back my rampant emotions. I burst into tears, hiccupping freely as the young man becomes alarmed. The young man with your name… and your face… and your quiet, solemn manner…

"Are you all right?"

I nod, a grin breaking through the tears. I never thought I'd have a second chance. I though that you had been whisked away from me forever, wrapped in that terrible white shroud.

"I'm fine, Ludwig." Your name is like honey on my tongue after all these years, and for a moment, I indulge in a silly thought: _Thank you for coming back._

_

* * *

_

I'll try to write something less depressing next time._  
_


	5. Morning

This is back to the Hetalia universe. LudxFeli (GerIta). I wrote this at camp, so it was somewhat inspired by my own experiences... minus the romance.

* * *

Feliciano yawned, blinking up at the darkening dawn sky. Ludwig had called him to attention only a few minutes before, and had then left to use the bathroom saying, "Don't move a muscle or I'll make you run until your feet drop off!"

And so he stayed… sort of. The brunette's posture was relaxed as he twirled on the spot, letting his arms fling out to the sides. Humming loudly to himself, the Italian wished that he was still in bed (seeing as it _was_ only four in the morning), when something caught his eye. There in the blackness, a lone light flickered into existence.

"_Una lucciola! Che bello!_" Feliciano cried, his wide amber eyes sparkling with surprise and joy. Forgetting his orders almost instantaneously, he leapt after the glowing insect.

When the commanding nation returned, he found his ally crouching several meters away. The brunette giggled like a delighted child, blissfully unaware of the irate Germanic behind him.

"Italy!" Ludwig loomed out of the early morning shadows, catching the shorter nation off guard.

"G-Germany…" Feliciano looked frightened, but his posture suggested excitement. "Look what I found!"

Holding his cupped hands out to his taller counterpart, the Italian urged him to extend his own. Finally, the blonde allowed his leather clad appendages to join the tanned company of his ally's. When he did, Feliciano opened them to reveal a single firefly resting on his soft finger pads. It flickered gently before whirring into action and fleeing into the open air above them.

"Oh…" The brunette nation's face fell, and for a moment, he looked as if he would cry. Ludwig hesitated.

"D-don't worry about it." He ordered, his voice somewhat softer than it usually was, "We can catch more tonight."

"Okay!" Feliciano jumped up, a grin on his face. "Can I have my morning kiss now, Captain?"

After a scathing review of his poor military behavior and lack of motivation, the Italian sniffled, "Why do we have to get up so early in the morning, Germany?"

Ludwig hesitated for the second time that day, then cursed. _How can he make me lose focus so easily?_

"We get up early to fit more into the day… and because it's peaceful."

"Ve?"

A faint blush crept across the blue-eyed nation's pale cheeks as he clenched his square jaw. After consulting his watch, the blonde replied, "Follow me, double time."

Feliciano could feel his apprehension melting away as he kept pace with Ludwig. The forest was cool and the air, fresh. Squirrels chattered from the shadowy brush, and birds had begun to sing up the sun.

"Germany? Where are we going?"

"You'll see." Perhaps it was the early morning light, but the blonde's ears were as red as thee tomatoes so loved by Antonio and Lovino. Now the only sounds were those of the twigs and leaves crunching beneath their boots, and the huff of Feliciano gasping for breath.

Suddenly, the trees stopped and gave way to a rocky clearing with a clear view of the still-hazy horizon. The view was breathtaking. The golden sun was peering through the grey veil of dawn, tinting the sky a pale yellow. Up above, the retreating evening spread hues of indigo, lavender, and pink across the morning canvas.

"Italy," Ludwig called him over, gesturing with his large gloved hand. Feliciano hadn't even realized he'd stopped, and quickly ran to his captain's side.

"Germany, this is beautiful…" He stared at the wide open sky as though it were his first time seeing it.

"They say it's romantic to watch the sunset," the blonde began awkwardly, "but I thought that, maybe, you would-"

"_Grazie_." The Italian got up on tip toes, flinging his arms around Ludwig's neck and pecking him on the lips. "This makes waking up so early worthwhile. "

"R-really?" The taller of the two swallowed nervously, his bashful eyes not meeting the other's.

"_Si_! Most definitely!" Feliciano giggled contentedly, "If I can watch the sunset with you, I know it'll be a good day!"

* * *

_Una lucciola! Che bello! - _A firefly! How beautiful!_  
_


	6. Waiting for You

AU again. GerIta with references to HRExChibi.

* * *

I remember waiting in the hospital, watching your small chest rise and fall. You'd always seemed so strong and tough, but now you were dangling between life and death, held their by numerous whirring machines.

My short, chubby legs had dangled above the floor, swinging back and forth to the rhythm of the beeps. I could barely see your serene face from beneath the clear plastic mask that fogged in time with your steady exhales. They called it a coma, and said you wouldn't make in another week. Your brother made them keep you alive, fighting with anyone who tried otherwise. His leg had been broken in the crash, but you had been his first priority.

I remember seeing your eyelids flutter, your beautiful blue eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. I'd charged to the bed, standing on tiptoe and clinging to the railings to try to get a better view. I had called your name what must have been a hundred times, but you refused to look at me. Your brother hobbled into the room, his casted foot thudding dully against the floor without the aid of his crutches. When he saw you, he folded like a house of cards, tears in his crimson eyes. He'd grabbed you and sniffled, trying hard not to bawl. I did anyway.

When all the confusion of nurses, doctors, and specialists had passed, it was determined that your memory had been wiped clean. Your brother had gone into shock, staring down at his pale, shaking hands. I imitated him, my childish mind convinced that this was how one behaved when someone close to them had lost their memory.

You sat up and asked for food, water, and a book, but when your eyes turned to us, you looked right past. We no longer existed on your plane of reality.

Your brother had packed you up after being discharged, and you'd both moved back to Germany to be with your relatives. I'd stayed put and pretended not to miss you. I did.

Now I'm sitting in a hospital room again, waiting for you to open your eyes once more. Today, however, my legs no longer dangle, and your brother isn't here.

When we met this time, we were strangers – familiar strangers, but strangers nonetheless. Your eyes had been full of turmoil and sorrow, shadowed from years of hardship. Their confusion and hopelessness made me ache; you always seemed lost and disoriented.

Now your eyes are hidden again, locked away behind your pale eyelids. The doctors, so much more advanced than they once were, still insist that you'll never wake. Now it's my turn to fight them off, doing your brother proud.

The car had come out of nowhere. Its agitated, mustached driver had careened into you on your once-spotless motorcycle, leaving two broken bodies in his wake: one of twisted metal, and one of bloodied flesh. The driver had then swerved off a bridge, ending his own life after barely sparing yours.

Suddenly, your eyelids flutter, golden lashes flapping like the wings of a crippled moth.

"Ludwig?"

You are tired, eyes hazy and breathing, slow. "Feliciano."

"You remember!"

"How could I… forget?" Through my tears, I can see a smile, barely visible past your clouded oxygen mask. "How long… have we been together?"

"F-five months."

"No…"

I froze, the salty drops spilling freely down my slack cheeks. There is something in your tone that makes my heart clench and stomach churn.

"It's been longer… much longer…"

"L-Ludwig?"

You look me dead in the eye, understanding and fulfillment visible in your sapphire gaze. "You were… a beautiful child, Feliciano."

The words die on my tongue, freezing up my mouth.

"I have… always loved you best."

* * *

Sappy ending? I apologize. Everything I write lately has become a lot more fluffy...


	7. Broken

Angst, angst, and more angst. Post WWII, GerIta, Hetalia universe.

* * *

After the Nuremberg Trials, Ludwig was very quiet. He walked with his shoulders slumped in defeat, lacking his usual military pride. When he spoke with people, he refused to look them in the eye; rather, he stared steadfastly at the ground.

It broke my heart to see this shattered ruin of what had been my ally, captain, and friend. Yet I could do nothing. I had joined the Allies and was therefore forbidden to speak with him.

Alfred had jumped in right after the last battles had been found. He helped Kiku recover after the atomic bombs, and Ludwig after his final defeat. He stood tall and proud next to the humbled Germanic who suddenly looked very small and insignificant in comparison. Alfred never let me help with their rebuilding. I could see the caution and mistrust in his otherwise cheerful blue eyes, their shade so like Ludwig's, and it tore at my heart. My friends, my former allies, had always aided me in times of need, and now I couldn't even return the favor.

One day, I happened to pass my blonde ex-partner on the street, his hands stuffed into his pockets in a posture he despised. I stopped, frozen in my tracks as he brushed past.

"Excuse me." His voice was polite, but raw and full of pain. My heart sank into my feet.

"G-Germany? Germany, it's me…" I rested a hand on his arm, forcing him to stop. Slowly, ever so slowly, he raised his eyes to meet mine. There were dark bags beneath his eyes, even more severe that before, and those soulful blue depths were flawed and bloodshot.

"I can't talk to you, Italy." His tone was muted and apologetic, but full of self loathing. "You know that."

"I can say hello, can't I?"

"Ah…" Ludwig's face softened for a moment, eyes brimming with hesitation.

"Come on!" I snatched up his hand, glancing quickly from left to right to make sure that the Allies were nowhere to be found. "I'll make us some pasta!"

Either he was too tired or polite to refuse, but he followed me, allowing me to pull him behind me. Already, my heart was beating eagerly; it was just like before. Within ten minutes, the German nation was seated at my kitchen counter, staring absently at the steaming dish of pasta in front of him.

"Aren't you hungry?" I swallowed nervously, searching his blank expression for some sort of response.

"Yes. Thank you, Italy." There were traces of relief in his voice as he spoke my name, sending a shiver of excitement down my spine.

"Well then, dig it!"

We ate in silence, the room filled with the clanking of silverware and the slurping of noodles. I smiled, relishing the sight of the pale strands disappearing between his thin lips.

"So, how's the rebuilding coming?" Ludwig was quiet for a very long time, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth.

"Alfred is a good man… nation." He said finally, "I'm glad that he's willing to help. The destruction from the Great War gave Hitler his rise." There was only scorn in his late boss' mention. I flinched.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" His blue eyes rose up to meet mine, question in their depths.

"For not helping. You all always helped me, but now…" My lips trembled and tears threatened my cheeks. "I c-can't even…"

"Italy." A knowing smile flickered across his features. "I'll be fine."

I hated that. Every time I tried to comfort him, Ludwig always ended up comforting _me_ instead. For once, I wanted to pat his head as he cried into my chest. I wanted to return the favor.

"No, you won't!"

"What?"

"Y-you're hurt, right? And your people-"

"Italy, I-"

"No!" I had stepped closer to him with each outburst, and now I threw my arms around him. "You're not okay, Germany! You're people are hurt and starving, and Prussia, your brother…"

A gentle sob echoed across the room, stunning me. From within my embrace, I could feel my blonde friend shudder.

"Italy…" His voice held a slight hitch as the lump in his throat blocked out his airway. Suddenly, I decided that I would rather be comforted by him for all eternity than see him lose his cool.

"Germany?"

"It's been awful." There was a haunted quality hanging about him as he spoke, his entire body shaking violently. "Hitler was…"

I remembered my Axis boss, how much he'd torn apart the world for his own ends. Ludwig's boss had been just as bad, if not worse.

"If I were human, I would be dragged to hell for what I've done." He continued, eyes closed and streaming. "What Alfred's doing for me is… is…"

"Germany, I-"

"I've raped, pillaged, and murdered. I don't deserve to live, let alone, be with you, Italy."

Suddenly, I understood. Ludwig had kept away not only because of the Allies (they hadn't stopped him before), but because he was punishing himself. But if being away from me was his punishment, that meant…

"Italy, I shouldn't be allowed to love you after what I've done to so many homosexuals. I shouldn't be allowed to be so happy right now…"

A fresh wave of sobs broke free of the taller nation, deep, gut-wrenching sobs. I could sense his anger, sorrow, self-frustration, and weakness in those wracking cries as they issued from his throat. That day, Ludwig cried as though his heart was breaking, and because I could do nothing, mine broke, too.

"It's okay, Germany," I whispered finally, my lips pressed against his shoulder, "sometimes it's good to cry. How else would you get rid of your boss' poison?"

"You don't understand." He gasped, looking at me with tortured eyes, "I allowed so many to be murdered, and for what end?"

"Um…"

"There is no excuse." Now, standing in my arms, he looked so fragile and small. Like a child. Like the Holy Roman-

"I will live with the title 'Nazi' forever. My children will be hated by all others, and for what? For a madman who abandoned us when we needed him most?" His hands balled into fists in my shirt, resting against the small of my back. "For a murder of men, women, and children?"

"You fought for what you thought was right, Germany, and that's all we can do."

"But the Gypsies and Jews, I slaughtered them in the worst ways possible. Oh, it hurt every time they were killed, I could feel my entire body burning. It was terrible. And what I did to France and Poland…"

"Germany, you followed your orders, and that's all we can do."

"But-"

"Ludwig," I spoke his name slowly and softly, "If you're feeling regret, then clearly you aren't evil. I would only hate and fear you if you felt no shame for your actions."

"Ita… Feliciano." Warmth crept into my chest as my heart swelled with love for this broken nation. "I'm sorry for doing this."

He straightened up, releasing his death grip on my shirt, and composed himself. The only signs of his grief were his red eyes, but nothing more suggested an outburst.

"_Danke_." He kissed me gently on both cheeks, then left, his ears the bright red that they always turned when he was embarrassed.

I assured myself that I was happy, having comforted Ludwig. Truthfully, I knew that I never wanted to see him like that again. When someone as strong and proud as he is bent with tears and sorrow, one cannot help but tremble.

I didn't see him again for a few years until he raised the issue of rearming. He argued that he needed to be able to defend his children and I agreed. Years after that, we were able to see each other again, but I'm sure that the tears I saw then were of joy.

* * *

Feedback?


	8. Ghosts

GerIta/LudFeli, Hurt-Comfort

Feliciano returns to HRE's house after a long, long time.

* * *

Feliciano gently pushed open the ancient, weather-beaten door, cringing as the rusted hinges screeched in protest. The hall beyond was deserted, the once-glossy floor coated with a thick carpet of dust and the crystal chandelier trapped in a dismal silence of cobwebs and broken dreams. The formerly beautiful home had fallen into a state of sorrowful disrepair, but the Italian's aching heart quickly filled the empty space. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, the hall was warm and bright once more, bustling with the swaying forms of royalty and dignitaries in their extravagant satins and velvets. Music and the smell of a banquet wafted in on the slight breeze ghosting through the house, tempting his senses. Blood pounding in his ears, he opened his eyes only for the ball to fade into the darkness.

Feeling eerily alone, he stepped forward into the gloom. The dust kicked up by his worn, leather boots tickled his nose. Feliciano remembered with a bitter sense of irony the hours he'd spent polishing the seemingly endless stretch of marble.

_His hands were blistering, rubbed raw by the constant friction they held with the brush. However, he refused to complain, biting back his sobs as tears rolled down his plump cheeks. If _Austria _heard him whining, he would be denied his supper yet again. A blister split, warm liquid oozing agonizingly from the newly-opened wound, causing a scream to rise to the young nation's lips._

"Italien_?" The master of the house slowly made his way down the stairs to meet the brunette, "What are you doing here?"_

The voice echoed across the deserted hall, ringing awkwardly in Feliciano's ears. He blinked, and the familiar form of Ludwig swam into sight, replacing the shorter blonde apparition completely. His posture, that reluctant, bashful expression, this house, those memories…

"What are you doing here, _Germania_?" His tone was light as he struggled to blink back tears.

"I just asked_ you_ that." Ludwig replied sternly, "Where are we, anyway?"

"A powerful nation once lived here." The Italian explained. _My first love._ "It was a beautiful house then, but…"

"That portrait… is that him?" A leather-gloved hand rose to point out the painting in its sad-looking gilt frame. Feliciano's eyes grew wide as they fell upon the likeness of the young man, and he soon found himself with his nose pressed almost to the canvas. It was carefully preserved, looking as though it had been completed only days ago, and for a moment, the Italian was almost convinced that a window between the ages had opened; if he reached forward, he would be able to grasp his once-beloved. Instead, his straining fingertips were met with the cool, long-dried pigments as they fondly traced the contours of the boy's pale face: his thin, pink lips, his intelligent, blue eyes. He could almost feel the warmth of the fallen nation's flesh, and on an impulse, Feliciano leaned forward onto the very tips of his toes and planted a small kiss on the portrait's cheek.

Ludwig cleared his throat, feeling awkward and more than a little confused by his ally's actions. "Who was he, _Italien_?"

"The Holy Roman Empire… _Sacrum Romanum Imperium_." The name sounded rusted – creaking tiredly from his lips after a long period of disuse.

"I believe he was called _Heiliges Römisches Reich_ in my language_._ I inherited a lot of his territory, according to Gilbert…" There was a long silence as the blonde studied the portrait, not seeming to recognize the resemblance between the fallen nation and himself. Feliciano bit his lip – he'd known that they looked similar, but never had he realized just _how_ similar – had Ludwig been… he couldn't have been… was he…?

"Did you look like that?" The Italian blurted suddenly, "When you were young, I mean."

This question seemed to surprise Ludwig, and he squinted up at the painting with a renewed interest. He tilted his head this way and that, as though he couldn't see the image properly. "Do we really look so alike?"

"Yes!" He was almost desperate now, begging for answers. His heart was palpitating wildly in his chest as he watched the German with wide, copper eyes. "You could be brothers!"

"Another older brother?" The nation's brow furrowed, "I really don't need another one of those."

Without fully understanding why, Feliciano reached up and grabbed his hair. Before the stunned blonde could understand, his ally had pulled his pale locks free of their severe style. As his flaxen bangs tumbled onto his forehead, the Italian was struck by their true resemblance. Those deep, sapphire eyes narrowed slightly as they turned onto the grey-coated marble, a faint blush rising to alabaster cheeks. A thin lipped mouth turned down at the corners, locking away clumsily cobbled-together words. His own eyes squeezed shut, tears oozing from their corners.

"We should go now, _Italien._" Ludwig fidgeted, unsure of how to respond to his friend's distress (he hadn't yet found the proper manual). "It'll be getting dark soon."

"R-right…" Feliciano rubbed his waterlogged eyes with tightened fists. "I'm sorry…"

"Don't be." Turning on his heel, the German began to climb the staircase. Curious, the shorter nation followed, wondering how exactly his ally had gotten into the house in the first place.

For one who was unfamiliar with the old house, Ludwig navigated it like a pro. As he trudged along, the Italian following him had to keep blinking away the specter of a black cloak that swept behind him. Suddenly, he stopped, and Feliciano collided (rather painfully) with his back.

"_Germania_?"

"_Italien_… is this you?" Picking up a fallen painting, the German passed it back to his friend, a look of awe on his face. When the brunette saw it, his face crumpled and he fell to his knees. Hugging the frame to his chest, he struggled to hiccup out an explanation. The words refused to exit his lips as he knelt on the moth-eaten carpet clutching the amateur artwork in his shivering arms.

"He painted me." Was all that he could manage before dissolving into tears. Ludwig stood there awkwardly, glancing around the empty corridor as if searching for help. After a minute or so, he simply gathered the distraught Italian into his arms and held him there.

"He loved you very much, _Italien_." The nation whispered, voice almost too low to hear over his companion's muffled sobs. "I can _feel_ it."

Feliciano opened his watery eyes just in time to glimpse a young, blonde boy disappearing around the corner, a dark cloak snapping behind him in the stale air. A shiver ran down his spine as shy laughter drifted into his ears, but when he looked up, he saw that Ludwig was smiling.


	9. Lessons in Language

GerIta, Hetalia universe.

* * *

"_Italien._"Ludwig approached the cheerful nation, a notebook clutched in his large hand. Looking up from his easel, Feliciano grinned at his friend.

"_Buongiorno!_" He sang, rising to pull the German into a warm embrace.

"_Bon… buon-jorno…_" Ludwig struggled with the word, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"What do you need, _Deutschland_?" The brunette switched quickly to _Deutsch, _his delicate voice transforming the harsh language.

Ludwig felt his pride draining away. Feliciano was fluent in German, yet even the simplest of Italian was mangled on the blonde's tongue.

"_Italien_, will you teach me _Italiano_?"

"Ve?"

"Please," he softened his voice, "teach me Italian."

A musical laugh sent Germany's heart plummeting to the floor. Clearly, his friend was laughing at him, sneering at his lack of linguistic finesse. It had been a stupid idea…

"_Si, _of course I'll teach you!" A soft, warm hand slipped into his scarred, leather-clad one. Feliciano grinned up at him. "Repeat after me, _ti amo._"

"_T-te… ti amo?"_

"_Ti amo!_"

"And what's that mean?" The notebook was opened, a pen angled expectantly above the blank page.

"_Ich liebe dich._"

Ludwig's face colored, growing warmer by the second.

"S-so it means…?"

Feliciano nodded, planting a quick peck on the man's cheek. "'_Ti amo' _means '_Ich liebe dich'._"

* * *

Um... this started as me making fun of people for the copious usage of the phrase "I love you" in whatever language. However, it turned into some fluffy crap like this. I suppose you could say this is for the people who asked for some non-angst for once...


	10. Weathering out the Storm

GerIta, Hetalia Universe. One-shot. Modern day.

* * *

Feliciano gazed out the rain-splattered glass, eyes squinted against the frequent flashes of lightning. Tonight he'd be trapped, unable to escape his nightmares in favor of Ludwig's comforting presence. A shaking hand pressed up against the cool windowpane and a prayer slipped past his lips. Outside, the storm was raging, trees bowed before its awesome power. The constant rumbling of thunder rang in the Italian's ears, and rendered them useless as he clung to the window frame. His knees buckled.

"I wish Ludwig were here." He mused, sorrow cramping his voice, "He wouldn't be scared."

* * *

"_Gottverdammt!_" The displeased German slammed a solid hand against his steering wheel. "What was I thinking?"

The obvious answer would've been that he hadn't been thinking at all. It was clear stupidity to be driving in this kind of weather; the rain was coming down with all the strength of a waterfall, and the wind was shoving his car roughly off course. This was suicide.

Even in his beloved automobile, Ludwig was shaken. The windshield wipers couldn't keep up with the torrential moisture, and the lightning was so fervid that it gave him a headache. It didn't surprise him that he was the only one on that stretch of road, considering the circumstances, but it was almost impossible to discern exactly where said roadway _was_. He could just barely see the lines bordering the highway.

Hesitantly he pushed forward. At this point, he was only a mile or two from Italy's house, and there'd be no point in turning back. A prayer burned at his tongue as he squinted through his water-blurred windshield. Ludwig's usually confident hands trembled on the wheel, slick with nervous perspiration. He fought the car, forcing it to follow the asphalt, not the wind. For a moment, he wished he'd had another drink before coming out in these disastrous conditions. Second thought, no he didn't.

Up ahead, a warmer, softer light flickered into sight. Italy's house, or at least a dim outline of it, loomed into existence. Carefully finding the drive, Ludwig pulled his car in, barely missing a crookedly parked Ferrari. With a sigh of relief, he cut the engine and sat for a moment in his storm-rocked vehicle. Finally, he took a deep breath and forced his door open, almost losing a leg in the process.

* * *

Feliciano saw two pinpoints of light appear from the darkness, and in his confusion, he believed them to be fallen stars. As the lights grew bigger, it occurred to him that they were headlights. Someone was coming, but who would dare go out driving in this weather?

_"Germania_…"

* * *

It was terrible outside the protection of his car. Ludwig was first yanked one direction, then shoved violently in the other. His feet struggled to stay planted on the ground as he battled through the storm.

"-aaaa…" A faint, reedy cry was just barely audible about the endless roll of thunder. "_Germaniaaaa_!"

Ludwig's head snapped up in the direction of the call, but his efforts were rewarded with two eyes full of water. Blinking and cursing, he continued to the door.

Only seven more steps… six, five, four, three, two…

His hand latched onto the door knob with a vice grip that not even a crazed Russian could've broken. Wrenching it open, Ludwig staggered into the Italian's house like a drunk. Pulling the door shut behind him, he could hear the yelling continue. There was a frenzy of footsteps, then-

"_Germania_!" A sobbing Feliciano buried his face in Ludwig's heaving chest, not caring as the moist chill of the storm ghosted across his skin.

Surprisingly, the blonde clung to his shorter counterpart, though this was almost due to the fact that the tempest had robbed his legs of their strength.

"Oh, why'd you come?" The man was crying, his gentle hands pulling through Ludwig's wayward locks, "You could've died!"

"We can't die of human causes, _Italien_." Was the reply, swift and sensible. The Italian balked.

"But you could've still gotten hurt."

"_Italien_…"

"It's okay!" Feliciano chirped, his odd mood swing abilities coming into play, "I'm just glad Germany's here!"

They kissed, a short, breathless affection.

The brunette smacked his lips and studied his partner. "Have you been drinking, ve?"

Normally this sort of question would be met with stony indifference, but now Ludwig blushed faintly, head tilted away. "I had to've been to be driving in this weather."

"You know you're not supposed to drink and drive!" His lover was insisting, a muted fury etched across his face, "You really might've gotten hurt!"

"It was only a little?" This half-hearted attempt to redeem himself failed horribly, and the Italian's small fists pounded against his chest.

"_Stupido!_ What if you'd ended up in a ditch? How do you think _I _would feel?" As usual, Feliciano was getting himself worked up, tears in his eyes as he considered the possibility. Suddenly feeling extremely guilty, Ludwig offered a shame-faced apology. After a long pause, the shorter nation grinned.

"Don't let it happen again."

They kissed again. Feliciano smiled, taking Ludwig by the hand and leading him into the house. If the storm raged on all night and tomorrow, it was okay – they could wait it out together.

* * *

And you can use your imaginations as to how they killed time after that. (They played checkers! *shot*)

Wow, it's been a bit since I've added to this collection, ja?


	11. Love

HREChibi. Hetaverse. Written for the 100 Themes Challenge: Love.

* * *

The young man sat outside his tent, his knobby knees drawn tightly into his chest. High above his head, the stars filled the black velvet sky like tiny diamonds, glittering down upon the bloodstained Earth. All around him, the groans of the wounded floated on the wind, haunting the otherwise peaceful night.

The pain of his children settled into his bones, weighing him down until he could barely walk without stumbling over his own feet. He knew they were dying, that he was dying, but somehow, he still had the strength to stand and the will to fight.

Closing his eyes, a smiling, well-loved face drifted through the dark, gazing back at him with kind, amber eyes. She was waiting for him to come back, and he didn't want to let her down. He loved her.

As a child, he'd studied texts and writings from all over Europe, but now, so many of them made sense. Love. The feeling was almost intoxicating, sending him reeling each time he laid eyes on her. His pounding heart and burning face were symptoms of this love sickness he'd heard about but had never understood until recently. Just thinking about her like this nearly drove him mad, knowing that she was out there, but being unable to speak to her, to touch her, to listen to her laugh…

"I love you, Italy." He mouthed the words, whispering to the sky. For a moment, he let himself believe that the heavens would carry on his message, delivering his words to her pretty ears, but it faded quickly, leaving him feeling foolish and sentimental.

Even so, he imagined her staring up at the stars – her beautiful eyes reflecting the night sky as she studied the constellations –when, suddenly, she smiled. Somewhere, hundreds of leagues away, his Italy was staring up at the same sky, mouthing the words, "I love you, too."


	12. Heaven

GerIta. Hetaverse. Fluff. Written for the 100 themes challenge: Heaven.

* * *

Ludwig didn't think he was going to heaven; in fact, he doubted _any _nation could or would reach that sort of eternal rest. However, as he lay beside Feliciano, sharing tentative body heat and listening to the icy wind moaning past his bedroom window, he couldn't help but feel at peace. Closing his eyes, he shyly brought the Italian closer to his chest.

"Germany?" Feliciano murmured into his side, smacking his lips sleepily. "You're nice 'n' warm today."

"Er… _danke._"

Throwing his slim arms around the blonde, he nuzzled into Ludwig's thick neck. "Mm… you're being cuddly this morning…"

If the German could've spoken, he might've pointed out that it was cold outside and he didn't want his… his _friend_ to get sick, but the words failed on his tongue. Something about Feliciano made his systematic brain feel as though it had been struck by a computer virus.

Finally, he drew a broad arm around the Italian's shoulders. Hesitating lips found Feliciano's forehead and pressed firmly against it in a quick, almost guilty, kiss. Again, all words were lost, and Ludwig's bashful gaze was dashed to the floor.

The unwieldy silence dissolved as the brunet giggled. Cupping the stern nation's face in his hands, Feliciano returned the kiss.

"I love you, too, Germany." He whispered, soft lips brushing his partner's pale ear, setting it ablaze.

As he lay beside Feliciano, Ludwig decided that even if he never went to heaven, living like this would be good enough for him.


	13. Memory

HREChibi. Hetaverse. Written for the 100 themes challenge: Memory.

* * *

He is dying, he knows it. Each beat of his heart drives out more of his life's blood to soak the deserted battlefield, and each breath seems to draw less oxygen from the air. He is drowning beneath the dark grey sky hung with clouds and rain. The droplets are drumming out a funeral march on his tired flesh, gently rinsing away the blood and grime. The heavens are mourning him.

Pale eyelids grow heavy, further darkening the crying sky. He can taste something salty and wet, mingling with the overpowering flavor of blood. His eyes are warm, but his body is cold. So cold.

Between gasps, he sees her: face scrunched and shoulders shaking. The tears on his cheeks are not his, but hers. The sky is raining her sorrow.

He remembers his promise – his stupid, selfish promise – and his heart breaks for her. He had given her false hope, he had bound her with a naïve confession of love , he had made her a prisoner of his affection. Now, his heart is like his promise: shattered into a billion jagged shards. His cheeks are warm and salty. She is crying for his broken heart. Sapphire eyes fade.

The sun is shining through the falling darkness, its gentle heat steading his quivering limbs. She is standing before him, her copper hair floating on the sweet-scented breeze. Above them, the sky is hopeful and blue. Her lips are warm. Here, too, she is crying. Here, too, her tears mingle down his cheeks. Here, too, his heart is breaking as he is, once again, forced to leave her behind.


End file.
